


The Singer and the Bodyguard

by PandoreKorobka



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Bond is a bodyguard, M/M, Protectiveness, Q is a singer, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 13:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17509322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoreKorobka/pseuds/PandoreKorobka
Summary: After being rejected from entering the MI6, Bond finds a position as a bodyguard for the famous Q, a charming yet controversial singer. Will their stricly professionnal relationship turn into something more ?Fic inspired by Mikanskey's art; part of the 2018-2019 00Q Reverse Big Bang.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The bodyguard [fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500922) by [Mikanskey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikanskey/pseuds/Mikanskey). 



> Thank you Mikanskey for the splendid art, and for the numerous advices you gave me. I could never have done something this big without your help !  
> Thank you Théa for correcting my mistakes.  
> This is my longest work in English so far, and my first work published on Ao3. English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. Hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless !  
> Warning: this work contains occasionnal swearing and homophobic slurs.

As he was wandering through the large corridor, distracted by the various noises he could heard coming from the doors, Bond wondered what had led him in this building to begin with. He felt like he didn’t belong in the middle of all these busy people, talking loudly, carrying makeup and microphones, putting on glossy ironed jackets over collared shirts. It was too neat for him. But no one really seemed to pay attention to him, which was one thing he liked at least.

The occasion to work in the show business arose almost by surprise, when he received a call from the job center he was registered in. They finally got him an interview for something he was qualified for and interested in, which was a miracle since he refused almost everything: a private, temporary bodyguard job. They didn’t tell him for who he would be working for or who would interview him, but they were adamant on the fact that he had to have a perfect behavior and a perfect look as well if he wanted to get it. So he put on his best black and white suit and prepared a list of easy sentences – _I’m so glad to have an opportunity like this, I’m certainly the most qualified and trustworthy person you could find_ , and so on.

He eventually found the office number five, where he had his appointment. He felt surprisingly relaxed. Calmly, he readjusted the knot of his tie and knocked.

\- Come in, answered a tired voice.

He opened the door and was surprised to find a very simple room, containing only a plain metal desk and a few lockers. Piles of files were carefully arranged inside them, each one labeled with blue tags. It was an atmosphere change he appreciated.

\- Please take a seat, said the voice, more distinct this time.

Bond lowered his eyes and noticed a woman sitting at the desk, holding a pen in her hand. She had a focused expression, and somehow seemed to be able to look at him and to write in a beautiful and clean handwriting at the same time – which, he had to admit, was quite impressive.

He sat down as indicated and responded to her greeting by a respectful nod. A few moments later, she stopped writing and grabbed two pieces of paper next to her, which he recognized as his CV.

\- Welcome. I’m Agatha Terrell. You’re Mister Bond, right? And you’re here to look for a position as a bodyguard for one of our artists.  
\- Exactly. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

After they exchanged greetings, she got straight to the point and asked the usual, simple questions he was prepared for. It was an easy back and forth, but he was certain that she wouldn’t content herself with it. After taking a few notes, she continued, proving him right:

\- I suppose you already know that if you get this job, you’re gonna be protecting a national celebrity. He has millions of fans, but it also means some detractors. He encounters new people almost everyday, and we need to preserve a safe and calm environment around him nonetheless. Which aptitudes do you have that may be useful in this regard?  
\- I am really responsive. I am good at planning events, and I have a sharp eye. I can also be discreet when needed, so I won’t disturb anyone in their work.

She seemed satisfied with the answer. She studied the CV a little longer, and continued:

\- I see here that you have experience with firearm handling, but without references. Do you practice as a hobby ?

Bond grinned. It was true that he didn’t clarify where this skill came from, but nothing prevented him from talking about it now. He might as well be honest.

\- I was a secret agent. In training.

She rose an eyebrow, unimpressed but still a bit curious.

\- So why did you end up at a job center?  
\- I was expelled because my impulsiveness didn’t quite match with their view of the job. I was too much of a loose cannon.

There was a slight bitterness in his voice when he said that. He was convinced that he would have been outstanding in this field.

\- Then what makes you think you’re suited to protect someone? asked Agatha, in an inquisitive voice.  
\- I’m the only person who’s not a member of an illegal business to be that good at gun handling.

Unexpectedly, she started laughing, and the mood lightened a bit.

\- Joking asides, he resumed, it gave me quite a bit of experience in managing unforeseen situations. And my stature and strength would help if I ever had to protect someone physically.  
\- I understand. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted, but the opportunities of success in these kind of careers are few and far between. However, I think your past experiences would make you a good pick. And you seem disinterested in the show-business, meeting celebrities, wearing suits and stuff – which I like, mind you. I’m getting a bit tired of this mentality, to be honest.

She pinched her nose, visibly annoyed.

\- Most of the offers came from people who are fans of his work and wish to get closer to their idol. And that’s if they’re not greedy paparazzi. I don’t even know where they read that we were hiring.

She let out a sigh.

\- Sorry to bother you with this.  
\- Don’t worry.

She gave him a small smile, and piled up Bond’s CV with other well-kept papers, after writing a few notes on it.

\- I think this interview must come to an end now. I hope you understand that I have to keep things short.

Bond felt very confident about it, but he didn’t show it yet. He had really liked talking with this woman. Maybe he should treat her to a coffee, one of these days.

Agatha rose and offered Bond her hand.

\- Thank you very much. I’ll call you back.


	2. Chapter 2

She did. In fact, unexpectedly fast. He hadn’t been waiting for a response until the middle of the month. She plainly announced to him that he got the job, and, without letting him too much time to enjoy the news, she got to the details. The technical bits, he did not care much about, but the pay was insanely high. He wouldn’t mind living in luxury for a while, and pensively considered the possibilities he would have once the job ended. He would have done it anyway, but this was a big added value.

She finally told him the name of the person he would be working for: Q. Obviously, it wasn’t his real name, but, even as he grew more famous, he decided to never reveal it to the public. Bond guessed it was part of the charm.

For the release of his new album, he would go on tour all across England, starting in Bristol and ending in Manchester. It would be a temporary contract, since the tour only lasted two months, but Bond would need to stay one month with him in London to receive training, and, in Agatha’s words, so that they would get used to each other. He wondered why. In his opinion, knowing Q wouldn’t make him do a better job. This didn’t keep him for researching information about him on the web all night, thought.

Apparently, he had made himself known by being an exceptional piano player at the conservatoire, then taking singing at an early age. But it seemed that his career really took off fairly recently, when one of his song had gone viral. Curious, Bond decided to listen to it. He was waiting for an umpteenth syrupy hit, but he was surprised to hear a pleasant, cleverly-written song, who talked about the singer’s coming out through a series of metaphors. His most popular songs all talked about heavy subjects similar to this, and he seemed pretty controversial compared to what was the norm in the music industry. He couldn’t help but wonder what he was like in person.

The meeting was set on Saturday afternoon, and Bond was punctual. Agatha had made an appointment with him in front of a large building located at the heart of London, in a busy street. They greeted one another rapidly, then she guided him inside. They took the elevator, and, while she was responding to emails on her phone, she gave him a few last minute instructions. Nothing too complicated, but he was surprised by her final sentence.

\- He’s very… Charismatic. Don’t let it get to your head.

Bond grinned. He had seen worse in his life, and a thirty-something diva wasn’t going to destabilize him. He was prepared. At least, that’s what he thought.

Agatha knocked and entered without waiting for an answer. The room was badly lit and without windows, and Bond had to wait a few seconds for his eyes to get used to it. A thin silhouette was sitting in the corner, seemingly motionless. Agatha finally found the switch and the room got clearer, allowing him to see.

He didn’t know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t this. After seeing him in so many videos, with nice costumes and lots of make-up, the contrast was stark.

His slender body was unceremoniously crouched on a chair, and his gaze was downcast on his phone. He wore a brown cardigan and a pair of black pants that looked like it was several years old, completed with a blue tie and a white crumpled shirt. He had dark wavy hair, that looked like they had been arranged only by a few strokes of fingers in the morning, and a pale, clean-shaved skin. His most striking feature were his eyes, which were of a soft light green color, with thin dark eyelashes, and which seemed keen and bright in spite of the dark rings under them. He had noticed the directors of his music videos often focused on them, and now, he understood why. Too bad that they were hidden behind big glasses for now.

Overall, he was feeling a little confused. He didn’t know how to break the awkward silence, and he looked at Agatha, his eyebrows raised. 

\- Q, this is James, your new bodyguard, she said in a slightly annoyed voice.

The Q in question didn’t rise an eye from his expensive smartphone. The thing was shiny and dark, the large screen without a trace of fingerprints. It had probably costed more than his own computer.

\- Hi. Nice to meet you.

His voice was smooth and steady, as one could expect of a singer; but, despite its softness, it had a slight sarcastic undertone that irritated him. A notification sound rang, and the negligible amount of attention he had been giving him returned to the phone. This was the end of the conversation, and Bond had no wish to try to make it last longer. Agatha let out a long sigh.

\- I hope you get to know each other. You’re gonna stay together for the whole tour, after all. Q, you should show him around.  
\- I’ll do. Have a good afternoon.

She swiftly got out of the room, and silence engulfed them both, only broken by the phone’s noises. Bond sat at the opposite corner of the room, without asking for permission, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He waited for a word, an injuction to get out of here, anything, but he didn’t seem to even notice him. He didn’t want to be the first to speak, but it was getting a little annoying at this point.

\- Why are you still here? Q finally said after a moment. Our next appointment is only in half an hour.  
\- You said you would show me around.

Q put his phone next to him, and took a few seconds to clean his glasses with his shirt. Then, he started in a drawling voice:

\- Ok. So, this is my dressing room.

He made arm gestures to vaguely indicate the different places.

\- The break room is over there, with the coffee machine. At the second floor, you have the office.

He made a final big gesture with one hand, in the direction of the door.

\- And here is the rest of the building.

Bond smirked. The singer really did not care about making a good first impression.

-You know, you struck me as a more dynamic person when I saw you on the screen. Where went your fiery youth behavior?

Q kept all his seriousness and continued scrolling on the screen.

\- It’s all staging. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on the Internet.

He had a point.

\- I see. Well, if you don’t need me, I’m going to make myself familiar with this place a bit. Thank you for your time, he concluded, imitating his sarcastic tone.

He rose and got ready to leave, when Q called out to him.

\- Wait.  
\- Yes?   
\- If you’re going outside, could you buy me an apple dumpling at the bakery?

The request surprised Bond so much he couldn’t help but laugh.

\- Am I your bodyguard or your guardian?  
\- Given how much Agatha pays you, you’re both.

Bond got out without answering, still smiling. Q surely seemed like an interesting person, but he wasn’t going to let him walk all over him. He found the elevator and took it to the second floor, where the workplace was. He might as well meet his – hopefully more friendly – other coworkers before he started his day.

The offices where mostly empty at this hour, and he only ran into one hurried-looking man in a suit, which didn’t even respond to his greeting. He was about to leave, when he saw a woman in the back of the room. She had not made any noises, but he knew that she was aware of his presence by the way she smiled at him. He came nearer. She was sitting on one of the tables, holding an expensive silvery laptop, and typed with diligence. She only stopped to shake his hand. She had a bright expression, and she seemed much more open to discussion that Q had been.

\- Good afternoon. I’m Eve Moneypenny. You’re Q’s new bodyguard, if I’m not mistaken? Nice to meet you.

She was strangely aware of their schedule, but Bond figured that Agatha had told her at some point.

\- Likewise. My name is James Bond. Are you working as a secretary here?

She grinned, not surprised that he had made the assumption, and she replied in a flash:

\- Absolutely not. I’m Q’s drummer, and I have been for three years.

Bond tried his best to hide his surprise. She looked so neat and tidy, he hardly imagined her holding sticks and banging her head over a set of drums.

\- Oh, excuse me.  
\- No problem. I get this all the time.

She didn’t seem particularly annoyed by it, but Bond made sure to not repeat the mistake in the future. If Q could be so different on camera and in person, there was no reason to assume anything anyway.

\- If I may ask, how did your first encounter go? You don’t seem too pleased.

Bond smiled. If she had knew him for three years like she said, she certainly knew what went on.

\- Well, it was… Something. I’m not sure he’s happy with my presence. We barely spoke.

She laughed, but didn’t seem surprised.

\- This is a common occurrence with him. Don’t tell him I said this, but he can be a little shy at times. You two will get used to each other, no sooner said than done.  
\- I hope you’re right.

He liked her casualness, even if they were in a business setting. He would make sure to come to her if he had a question in the future.

\- I’m sorry to interrupt our conversation, but you need to meet with Q and the crew in five minutes. You better go. It’s on the second to last floor.

Bond looked at his watch. She was indeed right. He would like to be on time for his first appointment.

\- Are you sure you are just a drummer?  
\- Certain. But I like to stay informed.  
\- I understand. Thank you for your time, I look forward to our next meeting.  
\- So do I. Have a good day! And try not to be grumpy around him. I know it’s hard, but you’ll both do better job this way.

Bond left with a smile. With his coworkers’ strong personalities, the following months would certainly be interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Having to care about Q was far less simple that he had imagined.

First, he had to be everywhere with him. They were hardly even separated. Which wouldn't be a problem, if Q didn't want to stay alone a good ninety percent of the time. One time, he needed to write, the other, he needed to sleep, and, when he was present physically and mentally, which was rarer than one would have excepted, he wasn't helping anyway. But their schedule wouldn’t accommodate Q’s lifestyle. Bond had only been there for a couple weeks and he felt like it never stopped. They always had something to do, and they rushed from place to place everyday, leaving him exhausted when he went back home to sleep. This boisterous rhythm wasn’t that different from what he was used to in training missions, but the people they spent time with tired him a lot.

And, last but not least, there was the cat. This enormous, fluffy pain in the ass that seemed to follow Q everywhere, and to hate Bond with all his might. Each time he got too close for its taste, the cat started puffing up and yowling, and nothing could stop it but Bond getting out of the room. When he asked Q about it, he simply was told in a rather annoyed voice that the cat’s name was Cinnamon and that he couldn’t do anything to change this. He got to the point when he did not really care anymore, and simply avoided looking at it when it was there. Although he would have been more than happy to lock it up somewhere during the day. Why was the cat allowed at work anyway?

Despite all of this, there were some things about the job he liked. Except for the first few days, he didn’t have any paperwork to do, nor did he had to stay at the computer for hours. The job was not repetitive, and he had the occasion to discover new places and people each day.

He had discovered an increasing interest for listening to passing conversations. In fourteen days, he learned more about the celebrities’ lives and their co-workers that he would have if he had spent a year reading tabloids. And it was not so different that what you could usually hear at a small office, except that it was on a larger scale. Who slept with who, which one of them was going to be promoted, who had the worst makeup. This atmosphere amused him, but he had no wish to take part in the gossip, and he mainly stayed away from Q’s colleagues, except Agatha and a few security agents, with which he drank coffee before going home. He would really have liked to talk with Eve more, but she was often nowhere to be found during work hours.

Q’s company, compared to others, didn’t seem so bad. He was afraid that he was going to dislike him, plain and simple, but he saw him more as a puzzle for his constantly running mind. He had learned to distinguish his two personas: the extrovert, happy-go-lucky artist he was with his public and his managers, and his tired self, centered only around his cat and his phone. Bond had once tried to confront him about using it to much, but he had simply brushed it off logically, like he always did.

\- Well, an artist has to be somewhat tech savvy. How would I know what people think of me if I didn’t go on forums and couldn’t read YouTube comments? Feedback is very important for me.

He hadn’t insisted, and let Q do whatever he wanted with it, even when they were at important meeting. Were all artists behaving like him, he wondered. To him, he looked more like a frustrated teenager than a star with millions of pounds in his bank account. But he could handle all the technical talk, and it was very convenient.

Since the first day, he felt like he had identified him as the grumpy old man, while in Bond’s opinion, Q was the typical hot-headed young blood. When they communicated, if it wasn’t for work reasons or to reproach each other for various reasons, they engaged in endless battles of wits, that they carefully stopped when anyone else entered the room. When they trained together, they contained their will to get on each other’s nerves, and they did pretty well.

Bond had also obtained the right to escort Q in the studio, where he recorded new songs, and trained his voice for the incoming event, and discussed with his managers and the instrumentalists that worked for him. Eve was here, of course, even if she did not always arrive in time, but he also met the other regular members of the group: the pianist, Bill, who had a strange sense of humor to say the list, and the bassist, M, that took his job so seriously that it looked like he didn’t even breathe during recordings. He always saw them together. By listening to their talks, he learned that the new album the concerts were promoting was called _Queer_. The pun made Bond smile each time he heard it.

Apparently, it would be a concept album, featuring at least fifteen songs, about his teenager life and his discovery of gender and sexuality. It was eagerly awaited by the fans, even if some associations cried foul and protested against the indecency of the project.

Bond didn’t really have an opinion about all this. He had been raised in a very strict family, where this subjects were never discussed. To him, self-discovery was for teenagers, and after a certain age, you knew yourself so well that only profound shocks could do something to your identity. In a way, he was admiring of Q for daring to speak about it in public.

But, aside from this, he had to admit he really liked watching him work. Q was very kind and accommodating with everyone, and he was clearly invested in what he did. His singing was always on point, too – even when he just woke up from a nap; and, even if he was technically the head of his co-workers, he tried to make them work together, on an equal footing. It made a nice change from what Bond has known at the secret service.

When they weren’t together, Bond had special training sessions with Agatha and another of Q’s managers, called Henderson. They gave him a gun permit, and explained to him the situations in which he could use his new weapon; he had several medical examinations to determine if he was in good health and if he hadn’t drugs in his bloodstream – he was clean, except maybe for his smoking habit. The most time-consuming thing they did was studying the plans for each concert location, in order to notice the possible flaws they had to watch for. Bond found this routine rather boring at first, but he was smart, and was soon used to all types of situations. He liked having responsibilities, and felt more than ready to handle it.

Days passed, and Q was more focused than ever, while his crew made the last touches to their carefully planning. Without realizing it, Bond looked forward to his first mission in the field more and more.


	4. Chapter 4

Before they knew it, the day of the first concert has arrived. This wasn’t Q’s debut, but even with his experience, he looked a little anxious. In good spirits, he had explained to Bond that the beginning of an event this big was really important, and that his managers would be disappointed if everything wasn’t perfect. He didn’t say it out loud, but Bond understood that he was under a lot of pressure, and that this evening could be a determining event for his career. He had proposed to stay with him the day before, to help him relax, but Q got him to understand that he preferred being alone. Bond didn’t insist.

A day before the date, they took the train and settled at a luxurious hotel in Bristol. Bond was glad that Q’s agency paid for the room and the meals, because he was certain that he could never have afforded it. The place had a lot of utilities and wasn’t too crowded, but the point was that it was very calm – and that no one would bother Q. The artist had chosen stayed in his bedroom, so that he could rest correctly before the concert, and Bond was advised to do the same. He didn’t want to sleep right away, so he made the most of his free time by reviewing what they worked on with Agatha and Henderson.

He had to stay with Q from the moment he would live the hotel, and to make sure no intruder entered the private rooms. During the show itself, he would stay in the backstage, ready to step in if something happened, without disrupting the event. Then, he would escort Q outside, where they would meet the fans. Bond had never heard of an artist doing such things, but, when he had asked Agatha about it, she answered that Q had always wanted to be close to his public, and to make them happy to the most of his capacities. And the fact that he didn’t object to doing autographs and meeting fans brought more people to his concerts anyway, so it was a great opportunity. Bond understood, but he couldn’t help but thinking it was kind of a security issue to let him wander in the middle of everyone. But as a bodyguard, he didn’t have a say in the matter.

His bedroom was right next to Q’s, and he wished to wake up at the same time as he did, but the bed was so comfortable that he slept almost until ten in the morning. When he knocked at Q’s door, no one answered. Agatha had texted him, and he learned that Q was simply taking his breakfast in the dining room. Bond simply ordered scrambled eggs and a cup of black coffee, that he had delivered to his door. Luxury had its benefits.

At one in the evening, they all had a light lunch in a private room. Bond recognized most of the faces here, but there was a few members of the security crew that he didn’t know. They ate in relative silence. As everything was neatly planned way ahead of time, they could make small talk without worry. Only Q and his fellow artists seemed very focused, reviewing the order in which the songs would be played, and talking to each other in a low voice. Q seemed particularly tense, but he kept it to himself.

After eating, Henderson and Agatha made a review of all the important elements they had to know. Nothing new, but Bond still listened carefully. He took his first mission very seriously.

According to the instructions, they all took different vehicles to get to the concert hall. Bond accompanied Q in a big car with tinted windows. They had an assigned driver, and they sat next to each other in the backseat. They hadn’t had any occasions to talk to each other in the morning, and Bond was happy to see him face to face.

\- How do you feel? he asked.

Q gave him a little smile.

\- I’m gonna be alright. I feel like I’ve done this a million times already.  
\- Are you sure? You looked stressed earlier. I don’t want you to faint in the middle of the concert, Bond laughed.  
\- To be honest, I’m a little nervous. But the excitement and the joy to be on stage… It’s really powerful for me. So I don’t worry too much about it.

Bond didn’t respond, and wondered how he could be so level-headed about performing in front of hundreds of people.  
They arrived very early, but the crew was already here, preparing the elements on the stage. The size of the venue was impressive, and the training hadn’t prepared him for this. He would have to redouble in vigilance once the night came.

Two security guards, who arrived ahead of time, showed them the dressing room. It was really large, with lots of mirrors and lights, and it also had a big walk-in closet. Q informed him that first, he had to do a test for his makeup and costume, and then, he and the musicians would go on stage to do the balance and test the lights. Bond had never   
seen him preparing for an event of this scale, and he gladly stayed with him to watch the process.

As it was a test, only three people where in the dressing room with them. Two of them were in charge of the makeup, and one of the clothing. Q changed in the walk-in closet, and got out a few minutes later. The suit he was wearing looked simple, although it was very well cut. It was black, with a matching bow and a white shirt, but, when he opened his jacket, a beautiful lining made of gold fabric appeared. Q showed it to the staff cheerfully.

\- How do I look? Maybe it’s too avant-garde for an old man like you, he teased Bond while moving around.

Bond was used to this by now, and he took the remark with a smirk.

\- It suits you. You look just like a high-school student going to his senior prom.

Q laughed, and, without wasting time, he sat on the designated chair for makeup. It was nothing too fancy, but the subtle glitter on his face really highlighted his eyes and fair complexion. Just as they finished, Eve entered the room. She looked at him and smiled wide. She was also wearing makeup and a beautiful black dress.

\- They want you on stage.  
\- I’ll come with you. Give me a second.

As he stood up, they complimented each other on their respective looks. Bond already knew their great complicity, and he was happy to see them relaxed before the show.  
After the tests on stage, the preparations came one after another. Everyone seemed so busy, and Bond got back to the quick pace of the previous days. Someone gave him an earpiece to contact May, the head of the security guards, and he put it in place.

The dressing room was packed. All the artists were here, along with the crew in charge of their looks. Sheets of instructions were handled, greeting resonated across the room, it was overall very noisy. But, even if it seemed like a mess for the untrained eye, everything was perfectly organized, and everyone was ready in advance. 

Q gave a last look to his phone before handling it to one of the makeup artists, and verified if his own earpiece was correctly put in place. To access the scene, they had to walk through a hidden corridor, and they had to be ready to go on stage as soon as possible. Bond wasn’t going to follow them: he had a small room next to the stage from which he could intervene easily if necessary. Before going, Q gathered everyone and gave them a sincere smile.

\- Thank you for your hard work tonight. You’re all contributing to making this a success, and it means a lot. I hope you enjoy the show!

The other artists thanked everyone as well. Then, after a last-minute check, they got out of the room.

Surrounded by all the crew members, watching them go, Bond suddenly realized the discrepancy between Q’s world and his. He, who had only seen stars on TV, didn’t realize at all what it took for an even like this to happen. Even if Q did what he liked, it was still as stressful as any job, maybe more. He was really strong to handle it.

Still thoughtful, he went to his assigned room, and the show finally began. The crowd was cheering happily as Q entered the stage, but Bond didn’t listen to them. In fact, he was so focused on Q and his surroundings that he did not even listen to the songs. All he knew was that he had to keep him safe – and, he admitted, that Q was really eye-catching in this suit.

The concert ended without incidents, and Bond met Q again in the dressing room.

It had been quite long, and everyone seemed tired, but content with themselves. 

They did not have time to talk that much. The singer changed into a fresh set of clothes, and they directly went outside to see the fans.

As soon as Q reared his head on the designated meeting place, people lashed onto them like a wave. Everyone was screaming and running, some where even crying, and it was not a comfortable situation at all. For Bond, at least. Q handled it like it was his daily routine – which it probably was. They had to stay very close to each other, and the crowd was making it very difficult. But he was more than happy to see that the fans completely ignored him.

He spotted a group of noisy girls somewhere in the back, holding a big sign over their head. The world “Queer” was beautiful written on it, with all the colors of the rainbow. Q had seen them too, and he gestured to Bond to talk to him over the noise of the crowd.

\- I’ll go see them! I’ll be back in a minute!  
\- Wait, no-

Before he could have stopped him, he was already gone, and the space between them was filled with so many people that he could not even run to him. He absolutely had to keep him on sight, so he tried to follow him nevertheless, even if it meant pushing a few surprised teens out of the way. But, after a few seconds, he was unable to see him anymore. He checked the teens with the sign, but he wasn’t with them either. A minute passed, and he started to feel uneasy about it.

\- Bond here, he called in his earpiece. I’ve lost sight of Q. I know he’s somewhere in there, but I can’t locate him.  
\- We will send someone. Keep searching.

He watched around him carefully, and a shiny piece of fabric attracted his eye. He felt instantly relieved.

\- He’s here. Sorry for the inconvenience.  
\- No problem, responded the voice.

Q got back next to him, smiling from ear to ear.

\- They were so nice! You should have seen them!

Despite Q’s joy, Bond had a stern expression on his face.

\- Please don’t go away like this. You scared me.

Q’s smile fade out a bit.

\- Understood.

The meeting quickly finished after this, and they left the venue together to return to the hotel. Q seemed eager to go to bed, and they didn’t talk until they arrived. Agatha was waiting for them at the entrance.

\- I need to talk to you. Come with me.

The two of them followed her in the private room in which they took their meals. She looked more serious than usual, and Q fidgeted nervously. She started without introduction:

\- One of our security agent told me what happened earlier at the meeting.

Q looked at Bond, a grimace on his face.

\- You told them?  
\- He had to tell us. That’s not the point, interrupted Agatha. But Q… We already discussed it. You can’t just get lost in the crowd like you’re anyone.  
\- I know.

She shook her head, visibly not having it.

\- You say that to me every time, but you keep putting yourself in danger. In the streets, during the events… You’re constantly exposing yourself, despite our efforts to protect you.   
\- There's no danger. They're my fans. If anything, I'm just risking to be asked too many autographs.  
\- You don't know what you're exposing yourself to. There's a reason I had to hire James. You're a subversive artist, and you should know that you'll get hate from some people, no matter how careful you are.

She left Q no time to answer as she continued, a worried and frustrated look on her face.

\- Even celebrities doing only party songs for teenagers have lunatics coming to their shows with knives. But you? With what you sing, it's like you have a red target painted on your back.

Bond could see Q tried his best to stay calm, but his face was even paler than usual.

\- If you did not want to take risks, you just had to hire someone else.

He put his phone in his pocket and quietly left the room. Agatha looked at the door and took a deep breath.

\- Bond, I know that what Q did was unpredictable, but try to stay with him next time. Who knows what could happen if you let him out of your sight?

She took her briefcase and left too, leaving him alone. He slowly returned to his bedroom. Behind the wall, he could hear Cinnamon running everywhere, playing with a bell. Did   
they choose the hotel specifically because it would allow this damned cat?

Bond felt really tired all of a sudden. He had no idea what to do, so he just sat and grabbed a book, that he read, laying on his bed, without paying much attention to the text.

A couple hours later, Q stormed into Bond’s room without knocking.

\- Come with me. I want to buy ice cream.  
\- It’s two am.

Q did not look at him and instead grabbed his coat and wallet. It was obvious that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so Bond dutifully followed him in the chilly night.

Neither of them knew enough about Liverpool to navigate in the city, but the GPS on Q’s phone did wonders and they managed to find a convenience store that was still open. The shopkeeper was half-asleep already, and Q took his time to choose his treats, before settling for a pack of oatmeal cookies and a lime popsicle. He paid for them and they got out quickly. Q was guiding him, heading towards the smallest streets. He most likely didn’t want to meet fans outside at this hour.

They finally settled down on a bench, in a deserted square from where they could watch the boats. Q unwrapped the popsicle and started eating, staring into space. Bond quietly watched him. He rarely had the occasion to see him act normally, when he wasn’t surrounded by work or fans, and he was happy to discover a simple person, who didn’t care if sugar dripped on his coat, and who wanted nothing more than a bit of peace after being overwhelmingly social for days. This wasn’t the sarcastic Q, nor the celebrity. He was simply being himself. That was a sight he liked a lot.

A moment later, he had finished the treat, and stood up to throw the stick. When he came back, he took the box of cookies and started chewing one, getting crumbs everywhere.

\- You could have asked for the same thing at the hotel, and they would have brought it to you within five minutes, Bond finally pointed out.  
\- I wanted to go outside.

He finished his bite and turned his head to look at Bond in the eyes.

\- I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I wasn’t mad at you for telling this to Agatha. But I feel like I’ve heard this for years now. Whenever I have to talk with my managers, I feel like an unsupervised child. 

He lowered his head, looking a little embarrassed.

\- That’s why I didn’t… Really appreciate your presence to his fullest at first. It felt like another unnecessary restriction.

Bond understood what he was talking about, and didn’t mind. Agatha seemed very protective of him, and even Bond, who had known her only for a month, could see this. 

\- I see. You know, I wouldn’t be so worried if it wasn’t in a professional context.  
\- I know. But most of my managers think that what I say in public could cause me to die at any moment.

He took a large bite of his cookie, looking quite upset.

\- It’s ridiculous.  
\- But I’ve seen some blogs, Bond objected. People talked about you in a disrespectful manner, they menaced you.

Q shrugged.

\- So what? They’re a minority. Most people love me, and those who don’t are to afraid to take action.

He reached in the biscuit box, and offered him one. Bond politely bit into it, thinking about what Q just said. Many the haters seemed numerous only because they plastered their opinions all over the internet, while fans where mostly silent only. Still, he didn’t know how Q managed to read so many bad things and be unaffected by it.

He spoke again, in a lower voice this time.

\- I have a question.  
\- Go ahead.

Bond hesitated a little, but the more he waited, the more he felt stupid for not saying it right away.

\- How can you express yourself so easily, knowing it will bring trouble? he finally asked.

Q gave him a surprised look. 

\- Don’t you do it? You have quite a big mouth, from what I’ve seen.

Bond did not answer. It was true that he was quick-witted, and he wasn’t afraid to upset people when he talked. But, when he came to his emotions, he was definitely not as open. He had come to see them as a weakness, and he had no need for an additional burden. So he just forgot about it until it was convenient.

\- Honestly, I don’t really think about it, Q resumed, interrupting him in his glum thoughts. I have nothing to feel bad about, so I don’t hesitate.

This was such a simple way of handling the issue. Bond was so surprised by his mentality. Maybe that was his youth that brought him all this energy, but there was something else. A great maturity that he had rarely seen in anyone. He found it incredibly charming.

\- And moreover, I think that a person like me, by speaking freely about their sexuality, could really help other to do the same. It’s like… A duty, you know?

He looked at him and started laughing. It was a small, but communicative laugh, and Bond smiled along. 

\- This sounded really pretentious, don’t you think?  
\- No, Q. It did not.


	5. Chapter 5

The following days, Q was more silent than usual. Outside of the events, he mainly stayed in his room with Cinnamon, and avoided Agatha like the plague, except when he absolutely had to see her. Bond couldn’t blame him for that.

They had started seeing each other more outside of Q’s public appearances, and he liked the change. Sure, they still threw barbs at each other when they had the chance, but they talked more about light subjects, and Bond could help him relax when he was too tense. In addition, he was getting more and more interested in Q’s work with time passing, and it was pleasing to have him explain the meaning of certain songs, or to show him how he usually wrote. It was a point of view that you couldn’t easily have as a consumer, and he really liked seeing things from a different perspective.

During the concerts, Q hadn’t get rid of his joy, but he tried to stay closer to his bodyguard whenever they had to encounter people. He surely didn’t want to cause more trouble that he already had, and Bond was very thankful for it. Even if he had already assured him that he had his support in all his future actions. Outside of the concerts, they had been to a few interviews to promote the album, and everything went smoothly.

While traveling across England, he had gotten closer with a the members of the group as well. He particularly liked Eve’s wittiness, even if he was still dazzled by how she seemed to know everything sometimes, but he had learned to appreciate Bill and M more, especially when they were together. They always had interesting things to talk about, and you were sure to learn something if you listened to their endless debates. When Q had training sessions with them, he usually followed. They would stay up late, practicing diligently, then they drank sodas while joking about the tour. Bond now greatly enjoyed taking part in their conversation, encouraged by Bill and Q, and he discovered that he didn’t need to be over-confident in each sentence if he wanted to maintain relationships – which he appreciated. The amount of work they had was so important that he couldn’t afford to stay tense all the time.

They had started to take lunch together regularly, in some of their numerous hotels rooms. Bond had more luxurious tastes that Q, and it always surprised him, given that he was the less wealthy of the two; but, aside from that, they had basically the same tastes, and they both liked to eat in silence.

One day before his show in London, which was the biggest of the tour so far, Bond decided to go in Q’s room to bring him a sandwich. They usually went in Bond’s, because of Cinnamon, but he had to admit he was a bit curious. Q had a way of appropriating spaces that fascinated him. Each place he went to looked like it had belonged to him for a long time, be it his rooms at the hotels or the various dressing rooms they visited.

He knocked, and entered after Q invited him inside. He was usually laying on his bed with his phone in hands, but today, he had gotten out his laptop, and Bond could hear a soft music coming from the speakers. Cinnamon was nowhere to be seen, but, when he approached the bed, he heard a small scream under it. If the cat stayed hidden, he was cool with it.

\- What are you doing?

Q looked quite proud of himself, and with a gesture of hand, he invited him to sit next to him.

\- Come here. I’ll show you.

Bond put the sandwich aside on the table and came nearer to Q. On the big screen, a program was running, displaying series of commands he had trouble understanding.

\- It’s for solving equations and other mathematical problems, he explained, noticing the puzzled look on his face.

He entered a complex-looking formula in the corresponding field, and, in a quarter of second, the results appeared on the screen. By the stare he gave to him, he began to understand.

\- You did this all by yourself?

Q quietly nodded, a mild yet somewhat smug smile on his face. Bond had always assumed that computers and technology were only a pastime for him, but he was wrong.

\- Don’t tell me _anyone_ can do that. It would make me upset.  
\- Rest assured, they can’t. I’m the best.

Bond watched the lines of code moving on the screen, fascinated.

\- I’ve always loved computer sciences. It came naturally, Q explained, like it was nothing.  
\- You should have become a programmer.  
\- I’m more interested in singing. And I’m happy to provide my works for free on the Internet.

He rose his head to look at him and said dreamily:

\- Sometimes, I wonder how many people who download them are also my fans. They have no way of knowing it’s me.  
\- I don’t think a lot of your fans have your level in math.  
\- That’s the point! It’s meant to make their life easier. I would have killed for this when I was in college.

Bond laughed. He didn’t have mandatory math classes in college, but it would certainly have helped him in high-school. He handled his meal to Q, who put his laptop aside, and they started eating.

Unexpectedly, Q started to speak again, almost talking for himself:

\- I had a pretty boring life when I was a student. Computer sciences helped me to feel good about myself. That’s why I continue doing it today.

Bond looked at him, and gave him a wry smile.

\- It is fortunate that your life isn’t boring today, or we would have drowned under a ton of cryptic programs.  
\- Excuse me?

He pouted and turned his back to him like he was really offended. Bond let out a little laugh and said slowly:

\- I’m joking. But I’m glad you didn’t become a programmer. I understand your songs better that your coding.

He meant it as a genuine compliment, but he realized it might have sounded a little mean.

\- I could have become one. But I think it’s easier to communicate with music. You said it yourself…  
\- I’m sorry if this sounded harsh. I didn’t mean to.

Q reassured him between two bites of his lunch:

\- Don’t worry, I didn’t take it that way.

He lightly taped his fingers on his left thigh. Bond had noticed that he did that when he was nervous, and he found it really cute. But now, he was a bit afraid of what he was going to say.

\- Bond… Can I tell you something? It might sound a bit weird…

Ok, now he really felt afraid about it. He felt his face flush for a second.

\- Tell me.  
\- Since we’re talking about jobs and all… I actually know about the secret agent thing.

Bond stayed silent. He definitely didn’t expect this.

\- Agatha told me, and it was kind of a running gag between us. But I started feeling bad about it… I shouldn’t have made fun of you this way behind your back.

He sighed, looking at the floor.

\- It was really childish. I’m sorry.

Bond placed a reassuring hand on Q’s shoulder. He wanted to reassure him, but he wasn’t sure how to do it. He understood what he might have felt when he had been assigned someone he didn’t want in the first place.

\- I think we both had bias on the other’s work field. I don’t mind, he said in a calm voice.

Q smiled and leaned back on the bed.

\- Phew… Thank you. I was worried you were gonna send the MI6 on me or something.

Bond looked at him, his own smile widening.

\- You couldn’t have a serious talk if your life depended on it, do you?

Despite his words, he was happy to see Q happy like this, especially since he excepted to see him tense about the event. It was true that at first, he didn’t really care about him as a person, but he came to see him as a friend whose well -being mattered. And he really was glad that Q appreciated his company as well. Even if it had downsides, being his bodyguard wasn’t so bad, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The following night was a big one. Q was going to perform in London, his native town, and more than five thousand people were awaited. Comprehensively, the artist felt a little stressed. As usual, he stayed in his room all day, getting out only for training and instruction speech. It looked like the quarrel between Agatha and him had stopped, and they talked without a hint of resentment. He was glad that it finally ended. 

To be honest, he was starting to get used to the routine. They arrived at the venue, did adjustments, met the crew, set everything in place, and then he just had to sit and keep an eye on Q during the show. But what he never got tired of the way his face lightened when he prepared for the performance. Each fiber of his being were dedicated to succeed, to entertain, and he looked like he always had an amazing time. This day was no exception, and, even if he looked more tense than usual, he still was spectacular. He handled everything with professionalism, only disturbing his schedule to give a few words to Bond or to his managers.

He soon had to leave to get ready to go on stage, but he asked to take Bond aside for a minute. Surprised, he followed him, wondering what he had to say. Q waited until they were alone in the corridor to speak to him.

\- Look, I know you are worrying about me. But I’m feeling my best. Just try to enjoy the show tonight, no need to be nervous.

He was, indeed, but he hadn’t thought Q would read him so easily, especially with all the work he had to do. But he appreciated the attention. 

\- Alright. I believe in you. I’m sure you’ll do wonders.

Q winked at him, and left like a diva, flipping his jacket so the golden side flashed. Bond knew that on the inside, he was more focused than ever, but his serene demeanor was impressive.

He swiftly got in his assigned room, and watched Q appear on stage. His words had been so simple, but they had a calming effect on him. He supposed it was one of the powers of an artist.

He leaned back against the wall, focused, but not only on the person he had to protect. It was the first time he allowed himself to relax, and just watch. And it was outstanding.  
His voice raw, less clear that what it usually was in the videos, was only made more beautiful by the fact that it was unedited. He was perfectly synchronized with the instruments, and his confidence shined right through him. The lights created weird shadows behind him and made his eyes sparkle, underlining the strange attracting quality of his facial features. He took elegant or dynamic poses in turns, following the lyrics of the songs.

Bond suddenly understood, as the music echoed in his mind, why Q was so popular as an artist. He did all of this for himself. Of course, he liked the public, and he had lived in the artistic field for a long time, but most importantly, he genuinely enjoyed what he did. And his incredible energy and joy resonated with his audience. It resonated with Bond, and allowed him to feel calmer. Younger.

This man really was a star, in every sense of the word.

Before he knew it, the concert had ended, and Q, disheveled and sweating, entered the backstage with a big grin on his face.

\- How was I? he asked around lightheartedly.

He didn’t wait for a response and started chugging a bottle of water, while the staff congratulated him.

\- Amazing, Bond simply responded.

He had so many other words to say, but it had been the first to came in mind. He wasn’t sure if Q even heard him. Until a tired but heartfelt burst of laughter filled the room.

\- I don’t think I ever heard you being so laudatory about my work. I’m flattered.

Bond laughed along, realizing he could have been much clearer about it, but not embarrassed a bit. He had grown fond of Q’s ironic sentences.

The singer grabbed a towel and some fresh clothes and headed toward the changing room.

\- You should get ready, he advised. I’m just getting clean, and then, we gotta say hi to everyone.

Outside, the crowd was as loud and excited than they had been during the show. Many fans stood around them, and Bond was impressed by the variety of people. A lot of teenagers, of course, but he also spotted a few couples holding hands, and a lot of people looked surprisingly older than him. During his first concerts, he hadn’t pay attention to these details, but now that he noticed it, he appreciated it in a way. Next to him, Q was in his element, shaking hands, giving hugs and smiles, signing notebooks and t-shirts. The cheery voices, and sometimes screams, of the fans, surrounded him; and their bodies were pressed uncomfortably close, but he did not seem to care. 

For Bond, however, it was quite a lot to handle. He couldn’t tell if it was the contrast with the earlier pleasant moment, but he could sense that something was off. He stayed alert, never keeping his eyes off Q, a steady hand on his gun. A few individuals caught his attention, but he quickly deemed them inoffensive. Except for a particular man, standing a bit outside of the group. It seemed like he couldn’t keep his eyes of Q, not unlike the others, but he had a tenseness in his face that Bond didn’t like. A big brown coat hid the majority of his large body. He looked like he was Bond’s age, or a little less, but he looked way more stressed than him. He held his big hands stiff in his pockets like he was afraid to drop something. In between two autographs, Bond leaned toward Q and warned him in a low voice. The singer quit talking to his fans for a second, and gently pressed his wrist to indicate him that he would pay more attention. According to the procedure, they couldn’t disturb the event for mere suspicions, but they communicated with each other this way.

The man kept bouncing on his feet, like he was nervous, and looked at the people next to him with disdain. Nobody else had noticed his presence, and Bond started to feel like he was becoming paranoid.

A couple of minutes passed, and Bond realized abruptly that he had lost the man in the crowd. He stepped closer to Q, protecting him with one arm.

A scream resonated behind them, and he turned around. Too late. A trail of blood was staining Q’s coat, and he heard him moan in pain. The man held a big knife in his hand, and his arm was shaking, his face deformed in an expression of pure rage. Bond instantly pulled out his gun and pointed it toward him. People around started screaming, and they fled the scene as quickly as they could. When he saw the weapon, the man froze. He had clearly no intention of risking his life, but he was still menacing Q with the knife. Adrenaline rushed into Bond’s veins. He was ready to shot him if he made one false move. His finger was on the trigger. The man swung the menacing blade in their direction, and Bond  
placed himself in front of Q to act as a shield.

\- You… You degenerate! Fags like you will rot in hell!

The man spat his words in a harsh voice as he put his knife back and ran away as fast as he could. As soon as he was out of sight, Bond reported his attention to Q. The singer was still next to him, and he was gripping his arm tight with his hand, teeth clenched.

\- Are you alright? Q?

He only heard a strange noise coming from his mouth, that he couldn’t decipher. His face was colorless. He was still conscious and breathing, although he could barely stand. Bond couldn’t locate the wound, but he hoped it wasn’t too deep. He wanted to call Agatha, but he wasn’t going to leave Q. The most important was to get him out of this mess.  
Without thinking, he put his hand under his back and lifted him so he could lay in his arms. He heard Q hissing while he did so, and in a brief moment of clarity, he recited the procedure to himself. For each venue, they always had a place to hide, in which Bond could quickly escort Q if things turned bad. They did not have to use it until now, but this was an emergency.

His heart was beating like crazy in his chest. He couldn’t stand the idea of Q being hurt. He felt like they were unsafe everywhere. As fast as he could without hurting Q, he ran to the designated spot, and called the administrator with his earpiece.

\- Bond here. Q was stabbed in the arm by someone in the crow. Middle aged man, long brown coat, around one meter seventy, blonde hair. He escaped, but he is surely still nearby. I’m bringing Q back.  
\- OK. We’ll be waiting for you.

Bond was suddenly glad that everyone ran away. He couldn’t have stood the looks of the curious and shocked people around him. This wasn’t the fresh news piece, this was someone he cared for, being hurt in a hateful action.

They arrived quickly. May, the administrator, and a doctor he didn’t know, where already there. Bond hurriedly asked her to call an ambulance to pick them up and bring them at the hospital. She informed him they would be there as soon as possible, and took her cellphone to do what was needed.

\- What… Are you doing? 

Bond lowered his eyes. Q had apparently fainted for a few seconds, but he was awake now – and he wondered what he did in Bond’s arms.

\- We’re heading to the hospital. I had to carry you out there. I’m sorry.

Q hissed as the pain sprang back in his arm, but responded anyway:

\- That’s very… Very kind of you. I hope we will be there soon, cause this hurts like hell.

At least, he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.


	7. Chapter 7

They arrived at the hospital in only a few minutes. A member of the crew escorted them, and he briefly explained the situation to the doctor who was on call that night. Fortunately, they did not have a lot of patients tonight, and were able to take charge of him quickly.

After a few minutes Bond spend worriedly watching his watch, the doctor came out of Q’s room. He explained to him that he had only a superficial wound on his forearm, necessitating eight stitches at most, and that he mainly needed rest and hydration. Bond tried to stay composed, but internally, he sighed in relief. Q would get the stitches and bandage done quickly, and Bond could see him in about an hour.

He did not want to stay in front of the door doing nothing, so he retrieved a few coins from his back pocket and went to buy something at the vending machine.  
It was already late, and everything was calm around him. A few people walked, careful not to disturb the patients. Bond sat down in one of the plastic chairs and stared at the ceiling while he munched on a damp chocolate cake, wondering when it would be over. It came to his mind that he could have seen Q’s ID when he signed him up at the hospital, but he didn’t. There where more important things.

The whole fiasco had been handled with discretion – well, in relative discretion for Bond – and no one outside of the closest people to Q knew he was at the hospital. He felt relieved that he did no have to deal with curious fans, even here. He couldn’t help but feel that the incident was his fault in a way.

Fifty minutes later, he was back in front of Q’s room. The doctor recommended that he made as little noise as possible, because he was still feeling dizzy. Bond approved, and paid a lot of attention when he turned the door handle and stepped him.

Q was sitting on his bed, a hand on his forehead. The part of the arm that has been hurt during the aggression was now completely covered with a white plaster. The singer seemed aware of his surroundings, and he had drank some water from a bottle next to him. It reassured Bond a lot.

When Q saw him, he gave him a light nod, and put his hand back on his knee.

\- Hello there.

He definitely wasn’t in his normal state, but he could smile and talk.

\- How are you?

His tone was more worried than usual. He couldn’t help it.

\- I’m… A little stunned. But it could have been worse.  
\- I’m sorry for what happened.

He tried to keep a neutral voice, but his words, although sincere, felt too low, and without energy. The emergency had now passed, and all the pressure fell off his shoulders, leaving him in a strange mood.

Before he could go on, Q put a trembling but strangely calming hand on his arm.

\- That’s nothing. You can’t prevent everything. Besides, I’m feeling well.

He had the same honesty in his words that Bond, and it had a soothing effect on both of them. His green eyes hadn’t lost their sparkling quality, and, when he looked at him, they both knew everything was going to be okay.

\- Don’t blame yourself anymore, please. I just need to sleep, and-

The ringtone of Q’s phone interrupted them, and he looked at the screen.

\- That’s Agatha. I have to pick up. Could you give me a moment?

Bond quietly nodded and got out of the room to let them talk.  
He left to buy another chocolate cake and a cup of tea for Q, and came back as soon as he finished. Even while he was outside, he could hear the muffled sounds of their conversation. They had been together on the phone for what felt like hours, and Bond was tempted to snatch the phone from his hands and tell her to let him rest. These had been a few eventful hours, to say the least, and he just wanted Q to relax. But he felt like it wouldn’t be too well received, so he waited in the corridor.  
The chatting noises finally stopped in the room, and he allowed himself in. Q was still looking at his phone, looking tired but a bit relieved.

\- What happened?

He rose his head, his brown hair stuck against his forehead because of sweat.

\- She wanted to cancel the other concerts. But I think my producer and I convinced her not to.

His voice had gotten its warm tone back, but was also a little more hesitant than before.  
\- I mean, I never cared about hate mail, so why should I care about hateful actions?  
\- Someone has threatened your life physically. You may want to rest a bit...  
\- I don’t. What would it be proving them? That I’m weak? That I’m sensitive to this kind of bullshit? I’m not.

He chuckled ironically.

\- I’m a _warrior_.

He said it in a convinced voice, but he looked like he was about to cry. Out of the blue, he grabbed Bond’s sleeve and hugged his arm tightly, still sitting on the bed. His hot breath tickled his neck, but his small, pale hands were ice cold. Bond realized it was the first time they were so intimate with each other, and didn’t know how to calm him without appearing awkward. So he simply put a firm but soft hand on his back, feeling his breathing pattern go back to normal, and appreciated the sophisticated sent of his shampoo.

\- I’m really glad you’re there, murmured Q.

He took a deep breath, and Bond felt shivers running through his back.

\- You know, you’re… Not only a person I see fit to protect me.

Q always spoke sparsely, but Bond had learned to read his emotion on his face. At this very moment, he looked so… Vulnerable. So tired, too. But they was something deeper, something he couldn’t tell, that warmed his chest.

\- Q… You’re really important for me, too.

He didn’t let himself too much time to wonder what they really were, and instead pulled him closer, appreciating the moment.

\- Could you stay with me here until tomorrow? Q asked in a sleepy voice. You can sleep on the guest bed.  
\- Isn’t it my duty to stay with you at all time? he responded.

He hadn’t intended for his voice to be so caring, but it was, and he didn’t address it. Maybe he needed rest as much as him.

Q weakly pulled himself off Bond’s embrace to laid on the bed, and close his eyes almost immediately, gently massaging his injured arm with one hand.

\- Thank you. Have a good night…

Bond was tired, but he watched Q well after he felt asleep, to make sure he was safe.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Q was on the first pages of all the magazines. Apparently, the whole incident had been filmed and put on YouTube, and, even if it had been removed in a couple of hours, everyone wanted to give their opinion on the subject. Some said that this awful act had to be punished as soon as possible, others hoped for quick recovery. Fewer told that he only got what he deserved.

While he was reading through the news, Bond’s blood was boiling. Everyone just had an emergency meeting with the managers to decide what to do, and Henderson, tactless as always, had had nothing better to say than “this accident is good advertising”. He was already angry enough without the stupid magazines, but this was the last straw.

\- Can’t you tell Agatha to make this stop? he growled before starting his third cup of coffee of the day.  
\- We can’t control what the journalists write. Besides, the managers are right in a way.

Q yawned and grabbed his phone.

\- This emails are starting to get on my nerves, though. I’ll just let my inbox alone for a few days.

Bond was instantly close to him, watching his screen.

\- What are they saying?

He had turned it off quickly, but Bond didn’t need to see the full messages. The titles spoke for themselves. “ _Serves you right_ ”, “ _why didn’t you die_ ”, “ _see you soon_ ”. Each word felt like a stab in the chest. He wondered how Q could handle this so casually.

He didn’t say another word in fear of getting really angry, so he simply went in Q’s room to pack their bags. They had a plane to take for Birmingham, the second to last place they would visit before the last show in Manchester.

He did not leave him for one minute. He sat next to him on the plain, ate the same lunch as him, escorted him to his bedroom at the hotel. He refused to go away until the artist sent him in his room because he wanted to sleep.

He had appreciated the training session with the group at the studio, but now he attended each one of them only to watch Q. He wanted to be everywhere with him, to the point that he couldn’t leave his room unsupervised. Rightfully annoyed by this, Q stayed behind closer doors, working on his computer, to avoid being subjected to Bond’s paranoid rents.

He watched Q like a hawk, unable to keep his eyes off him, unable to tell him how worried he still was. He thought their night at the hospital has made them closer, but his attitude had made things quite tense between us. Nevertheless, he believed he didn’t have a choice.

His angst peaked when one morning, Agatha asked to see him in private. She handed him a handwritten letter, which targeted Q, and was shamelessly threatening and homophobic. Bond didn’t need to read it to the end. He felt like he wanted to throw up.

\- I found it at the hotel’s reception, addressed to him, she said in a worried tone. It means that someone knows where we’re located for now. Security is high, but be alert still. If this leaks somewhere on the Internet, we might be obligated to depart as soon as possible. But please, don’t tell him about it. He’s already nervous enough, and the concert is tomorrow.

Bond returned to his room, full of sorrow. Somehow, Cinnamon had succeeded in entering, and now rolled on his bed, getting red hairs everywhere on the perfectly ironed sheets. Strangely, it didn’t seem bothered by his presence, and instead started purring and rubbing against his hand. Bond figured that because Q was under pressure, he hadn’t had time to play with it a lot. He caressed the soft fur absentmindedly – he was definitely not used to the company of animals – until he decided that it was time to bring it back where it belonged. He took it carelessly in his arms and went to knock on Q’s door.

\- Is that you? answered a tired voice.  
\- Yes.  
\- Come in.

Bond entered, and dropped the cat on the floor, from which it happily joined his owner on the bed.

\- Oh, thank you for getting Cinnamon. Where was it?  
\- In my bedroom.  
\- Really? This cat will always surprise me…

Q was writing on his computer, and, each time he stretched his arms to take a break, Bond could see the little stitches scars move on his arm. He felt hopelessly guilty about it, even if Q told him that it wasn’t his fault. But he was just… So angry that he couldn’t do his job right. That he had let him face danger alone, even for a second.

\- Could I say in your bedroom for the afternoon? I could take care of you more easily this way.

The answer came clear as ice:

\- No.

Bond rose an eyebrow, somewhat confused:

\- Why..?  
\- Because having someone in the same room when I’m writing disturbs me. I can’t focus. Besides, you’re always with me wherever I go. Don’t you want to rest too?  
\- But-  
\- Get out, please.

Q said that in a playful tone, but there was an unmistakable hint of annoyance in his voice, and Bond didn’t insist. He tried to read a bit, but he couldn’t focus, so he ended up eating alone in his room and watching the ceiling, slowly falling asleep.

When he woke up, eight pm had passed, and the night already felt.

He got up, took a quick shower and put on a nice suit, they got ready to meet Q. Knowing him the way he did, he was sure that he hadn’t eat since the morning. They could eat together, and after that, he would accompany him safely to his room to sleep.

He knocked on the door. No response. Maybe Q was asleep? He tried twice, but to no avail. Eventually, he decided to enter the bedroom. Cinnamon was there, sleeping peacefully, but Q was nowhere to be seen. Bond started to worry. It wasn’t customary of him to get out early at night. He suddenly thought about the letter again, and started panicking.  
Meticulously, he searched every public room of the hotel, each time getting more and more anxious when Q wasn’t there. He tried called him on his cellphone, but he didn’t respond. Panic gained him, and he played all the worst scenarios in this head. This couldn’t be happening… In his fear, he didn’t even think about calling Eve, Bill or M, his stress increasing with every passing second.

He suddenly remembered the location of the training room. Q had to be here, or Bond was certain he would lose his mind. He ran to it, and clenched his teeth when he opened the door, fearing for the worst.

\- Hey, don’t make sudden noise like that when I’m working! You almost made me jump.

It was Q. Alone, untroubled, putting his equipment away like he did after each training session, watching him as if nothing happened. Bond felt an immense relief taking over his chest.

\- Don’t ever scare me like this again. I’ve been searching you for over ten minutes. You could answer your phone!

Q grimaced and replied in an exasperated tone.

\- Are you going to follow me around everywhere?  
\- Q, I’m doing this for your own security! I’m not trying to restrain you.  
\- Well, it sure seems like it though. You’re starting to look more and more like my managers. I thought I could trust you on this.

He dropped everything he was doing and turned to Bond.

\- I can stand for myself! I’m not a child anymore!  
\- I still have to protect you! Don’t you understand? I must know where you are at all times!

His voice started to get louder, but, even if he was angry, Q knew this wasn’t all. Bond’s look was more than furious, it was caring, and troubled, and his voice cracked on the words.

\- Anything could happen to you! Do you ever think about how much danger you’re in? I have to keep you safe, it’s my duty!

Q got closer to him, and roughly grabbed his arm, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

\- Bond, listen-  
\- Why should I? You don’t even know how important your life is! You don’t even know how much you matter…

Bond was abruptly cut in his words when he realized how close Q had gotten. Even in his fury, he noticed the unusual glint in Q’s eyes. They stared at each other in bewilderment.  
Q made the first move. Before he knew it, he had grabbed the collar of his shirt and was pressing his lips against his. It was so sudden that Bond froze, unable to process what was happening. Hundreds of questions crossed his mind, but they were quickly erased by the softness of his mouth. He responded to the kiss without hesitation, tasting his tongue and lips like they were the most delectable thing he had ever known. He naturally took the lead, pushing Q against the nearest wall to kiss him deeper. He could feel his small hands gripping the back of his jacket like he was afraid to fall. They stopped kissing, out of breath, and exchanged a quick look full of desire, before starting again. Bond gave a playful bite to his lip, and indecently grabbed his ass through his jeans, which made Q squirm. He wasn’t excepting that.

As a revenge, he pressed his body against Bond’s, and their closeness left nothing to his imagination. He felt the urge to kiss him again and again. He nibbled his ear, and said in a low, warm tone:

\- You’re incredible…

The tension of the last moments had dissipated, replaced by they burning need to be together, to feel each other. He slid a hand underneath Q’s shirt, and heard him struggle to catch his breath as his was roughly caressing his silk-smooth skin. Getting more confident, he kissed the sensitive thin skin of his neck, leaving him with a few hickeys, looking like tiny flowers on his white complexion. In a swift move, Q removed Bond’s jacket, and, throwing it on the floor without consideration, held him closer. He gave some kisses on his shoulders and his neck too, gentler than Bond had been, but not less loving. Both couldn’t wait to discover more of each other. They both lost themselves in the unexpected moment, savoring each other presence.

Only the sound of someone passing in the corridor stopped them in their tracks, and they both got away from each other quickly, like two accomplices caught in a bad act. When they were certain that no one was entering there, Bond turned back to Q, and had to contain an exclamation. What a sight.

Q was blushing to the tip of his ears. His sparkling eyes were hazy, his breath short. His delicate fingers brushed against his neck, trying to erase the slight pain of the love bites. His brown curls were tangled, and his shirt, which had been creased by his lustful hands, stuck to his skin, revealing every detail of his body. He looked like a mess. Absolutely delightful.

\- Could I spend the night in your room? Bond asked in a sultry voice.

This time, Q didn’t decline.


	9. Chapter 9

Bond lived the following day in a sort of mist, and their second to last concert passed like a dream. It seemed that nothing had changed between them, at least, not something that they could explain yet. This night had only appeared to be the logical continuation of their relationship.

Bond’s head was full of unanswered questions and doubts. It made him reconsider his status as Q’s bodyguard. Could he do a good job of protecting him, after what happened? He could keep a straight face while working, but his heart missed a beat each time he saw him face to face. He fought this with all his might. Q’s career and safety were the most important.

Both of them wanted to talk about it, but neither knew where to begin. In the plane that took them to Manchester, both of them feigned to sleep, too afraid to address the situation. They barely talked until the afternoon of the final concert.

The finale had to be grandiose, and everyone was reunited to help. Q had been inflexible on the fact that Bond had to be with him everywhere, and Bond was moved by the thought. He tried to help him and the staff as much as he can, and he appreciated the warm smiles he received from Q in return. Everything seemed to be back to normal, and Bond liked it this way. Maybe they wasn’t a need for it to be told. They just understood each other, without having to say it out loud.

Before they had to go on stage, Q lured him in a dark, empty room to give him a heated kiss. He was already prepared, and sparkles felt on Bond’s jacket and shoulders, but he couldn’t care less.

\- Hope it wishes you luck, he whispered.  
\- It will. Just watch me.

Q hadn’t been wrong. As soon as he walked on stage, he gave everything he had. There weren’t a wrong note or a false step. Everything was marvelously staged, but it felt so perfect, so natural. Q’s voice was incredible, from the beginning to the end, and he could feel his emotions in each of his words, sublimed by the music. He appropriated the place like he had always been there, like it wasn’t the biggest concert of his career. Serene, beautiful, out of this word. Bond wanted it to never end. Without noticing, he tapped his feet in the rhythm of the songs, and applauded and cheered each time with the crowd.

Then the finale arrived. From all of Q’s song, this one was his favorite. He remembered the time he had spent explaining the lyrics to him, in his old clothes, gently stroking Cinnamon’s fur on his bed. He looked really different on stage. But not less invested, not less magnificent. On the scene, sparkles sprung from every direction, illuminating the artists’ faces as they played the last song of the tour together. All of them were spectacular. But Bond only had Q in his mind.

When they came back in the backroom, the whole crew started cheering and hugging them. Even Bond, who was usually more detached, ended up shaking Eve’s and M’s hand, and even giving a small embrace to Bill, who screeched louder than the others in pure joy and basically hugged everyone.

Q eventually came closer to him and gave him a warm smile. The scent of clean clothes and makeup powder seemed more distant, covered by the light, refreshing scent of Q’s lilac perfume.

\- How did we do?

He looked so full of energy, so genuinely happy. His voice sprung out of his lips like he had just run a marathon. Bond felt the sudden urge to hold him in his arms. He couldn’t contain his emotions, and grasped him so tightly that he lifted him from the floor for a second. Q returned the hug and whispered next to his ear:

\- I know I’m the best, but let me breathe a bit, ok?

Bond felt so nice all of a sudden. Everything mixed up together: his voice, the warmth of his body, the dazzling lights around them. He never wanted to let him go.

When they were finally separated by a very excited Eve, it was only so they could all change and go outside to meet everyone. Bond tried to regain his serious face, but the collective joy had taken over him, and he couldn’t help but smile still. Before hurrying out, he caught a glimpse of Q sprinkling more gold glitter all over his hair and face.  
This time, the whole band went outside to meet the fans. It had been an extraordinary show, and everyone wanted to shake the artists’ hands and to get autographs. The security had been reinforced, and, even at the fullest of his focus, Bond couldn’t detect any suspicious activities. He was glad that everything was going well. Q diligently stayed next to him while he talked with the fans, and, as they had learned to do, they communicated with small gestures to avoid bothering the people around us. These little exchanges, that he had seen as simple and strictly useful, now meant much more to him – and it seemed like he could actually feel his fingers lingering more than necessary on his arm, in a gentle expression of trust.

A small group of people started to make their way towards them, and Bond watched them carefully. They looked like average college students, and he noticed that they had put gold glitter on their face, like the artists did. Q greeted them with a gesture of the hand and they came closer, excited like never before. They were four, all smiling widely, and one of them looked like he were about to cry.

\- Q! We’re so happy to see you! exclaimed a girl.  
\- You were incredible tonight, added another.  
\- We know you don’t have much time, but we just wanted to thank you, she continued. That you kept going even after what happened… It was incredible.  
\- Thank you for standing up to their bullshit. And for being so open about who you are.

They spoke like they really meant it, and Bond thought about the conversation they had had in Liverpool. Q was more than a singer for them. He also represented hope, and helped them get through hardships, just by expressing himself. Q seemed moved by their words, and his eyes shone with pride and joy.

\- Thank you, guys. It really means a lot.

He signed their notebooks, and even their caps, before returning to speak with others fans. Bond was always impressed by the serenity with which he did all this.  
Bill, M and Eve seemed not less professional, and he could see them joking with the fans further in the crowd. He watched them carefully, but nothing seemed to pose a threat at the moment. So he just admired Q being himself for the rest of the meeting.

They finished late, and they grouped up in the backroom with everyone. M, usually calmer, was giving pats on the shoulders of the crew and singing. Someone proposed that they celebrated at the hotel, and Bond, although a little tired, was more than happy to join.

They got a big private room in which they could drink and eat together, and, after checking that everything was safe, he allowed himself to relax a bit. The alcohol coupled with the fatigue was making his vision blurry. Q was hanging out with Eve, gently laughing as he took another drink. His happy face, his beautiful, genuine smile, and the glitter that covered him like tiny stars, made him stand out from everyone in the room. For Bond, it certainly looked like it. He even forgot that this was their last night together.

The party continued until late at night, but Q left a bit before the others. Bond wanted to join Eve, but he was stopped by Eve before he could leave the room.

\- Could we talk for a moment?  
\- No problem.

He followed her in a calmer corner of the room, and got glasses of alcohol for the both of us. They drank in silence, then Eve started with a confidential smile:

\- So… There is something between you and Q, isn’t it?

There was no point in denying. Bond sighed.

\- How did you know?  
\- He had a love bite on his neck that was so big that the makeup artists took a full ten minutes to cover it.

He wanted to slap himself in the face. How stupid could he get?

\- He didn’t really talk to me about it, continued Eve, but I see the way he talks about you. He is practically beaming with confidence.

Bond couldn’t respond. He had noticed the way he acted when he was with him, but he had never imagined that he could be like this around others.

\- If you say so…  
\- Believe me. I’ve known him for a long time.  
\- Do you know what I should do? I feel like we’re in a dead end… I have no idea of what I should say.

Bond scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. He didn’t like to admit his weaknesses, especially when it came to love and relationship. But Eve wasn’t judgmental. She only wanted to help.

\- Tell him how you feel. I know big grumpy guys like you don’t like to express their emotions, but you’ll have too this time.  
\- You’re surely right.

She looked at him, with a soft and understanding expression.

\- You know, Q isn’t the type to sleep here and there. He must really like you a lot.

Bond felt slightly confused, thinking about what it meant for him. Eve gave him a warm, motherly smile.

\- Well, don’t stay there. You should talk to him before he goes to bed.

Bond thanked heart from the bottom of his heart, and quickly made his way to Q’s bedroom. As the sounds of the party got more distant, he became more and more aware of his surroundings. The muted atmosphere, the beating of his own heart. It was a lot to handle, and he wasn’t even in front of Q yet.

When he arrived next to his bedroom door, he couldn’t knock. He was paralyzed by fear. After all, what did he have to say? His feelings were intertwined in his head since he met him, and it hadn’t stopped. He wasn’t even sure of what he really wanted. He felt like asking anything of him would be too hard, too demanding. Q had so much people that cared for him, that his own thoughts couldn’t be so important. He went to his bedroom and laid awake on his bed, without any lights. He felt like a coward. If only he had a simple way to put it into words.

A moment later, he heard a knock on his door, so small he thought he had dreamed it. But when he saw Q entering the bedroom, his heart missed a beat.

\- Could I sleep in your bed tonight?

His voice was so low that he wasn’t sure that he heard correctly. But he agreed anyway. Q came next to him under the sheets, still clothed, and shyly hugged his arm like he was a giant pillow. They stayed like this a long time, appreciating the presence of each other, but there was a weight on them. The weight of knowing they would have to part ways soon. When Bond dared to speak, it was in a heavy voice.

\- Q…  
\- I know, James. I don’t want you to leave either.

 

The morning was harsh for them. They woke up early, and they had to dress up quickly in order to be on time. Bond would sign some papers with Agatha in another building, and they she would take him to the airport. He had his flight for London at one and a half pm. Q’s schedule didn’t leave him time to come along, but he wanted to be here to say goodbye, at least. They did all of their morning activities together, like an old couple, and kissed each other each time they had the chance. Bond savored the moment, the lukewarm feeling of Q’s skin against his, the silkiness of his hair, the beautiful light tone of his voice. He was going to miss it. He was going to miss him.

Agatha came to escort Bond at nine, and, in the privacy of their bedroom, they exchanged a long hug, filled with all the things they couldn’t tell out loud.

When they got out, Agatha told them to hurry up. They got out quickly, like nothing ever happened.

Outside, the sun was bright, but the air was so cold that Bond couldn’t help but tremble a bit. Perhaps it wasn’t only because of it.

Q looked at him, and his expression, which had been so joyful yesterday, was now filled with sadness and disarray.

\- Well, I guess that’s it, he acknowledged.

He blurted his words, as if he was having a hard time to breathe.

\- I have really appreciated to work with you. I hope we can meet again sometimes.  
\- Me too. Thank you for everything. You’re an amazing artist, Q, and a fantastic person as well.

He just had to lean forward to kiss him. Only a few centimeters separated them. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not in front of everyone. So he simply shook his hand. Q’s eyes were shining, but it wasn’t because of his usual energy. He seemed crushed by his imminent departure. When he let his hand go, he felt his fingers caressing his palm, for a brief moment. It was so simple, and yet so sensual, that he felt a lump forming in his throat.

\- Goodbye.

The word resonated through Bond’s chest like a bullet. But he forced himself to smile. He didn’t want to make him feel bad.

\- Goodbye.

They exchanged a last look, full of sadness and unspoken thoughts. He got in the car, and watched Q’s silhouette getting further and further away, until he disappeared. Only then, he allowed himself to break down.


	10. Chapter 10

The airport was quite busy at noon, and, despite the many hours he spend surrounded by strangers in the past weeks, Bond felt somewhat out of place. He had been all too aware that his mission would come to an end, and that he would resume his solitary jobless life one day or another. But this hurt nonetheless. Especially after getting so close to Q.

He tried to remember how long it was since he had been with someone. He had many flings over the years, but something serious? He couldn’t remember. And it was with Q that he wanted to finally start something. Too bad than he had only been his bodyguard. An unprofessional one, on top of that.

He looked at his watch. He still had one hour before the plane’s departure. After buying a tasteless coffee at the vending machine, he stood in front of the departure board, absentmindedly staring at the luminous numbers, his hand luggage next to him.

He was suddenly disturbed by a noise coming from behind. The sound of a pair of shoes running on the hard floor. He turned his head and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Q was there, right in front of him, in the same old pants and brown cardigan he had always seen him wear when he wrote late at night. He looked breathless and off-guard, and Bond felt the three months he spent as his bodyguard getting back on top as he protectively put his arm next to his back, before realizing it was useless and moving back. But the gesture put a huge smile on Q’s face.

\- What are you doing here? Bond asked in a low voice, careful not to draw attention to them.

His precautions were useless anyway. He didn’t even have to look to realize people were staring at them – or, more precisely, at the famous Q, looking like he just got out of bed, grabbing the arm of a stranger.

\- I wanted to see you. Actually, you can’t return to London. Not yet, at least.  
\- May I ask why? 

The answer, he knew all too well. The words had been burning in his mind since they separated earlier. When Q responded, it was with pure sincerity on his voice:

\- I want to stay with you. I did not have the strength to follow you to your hotel last night, but I felt like… I couldn’t leave you like this. Not after all we shared. It would have been a shame.

He let out a little laugh, his pale face slightly blushing.

\- I wanted you to know… That you could always work for me. Full time.

Bond smiled in return, and placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

\- I love you too.

Q outright blushed at the words, an expression of pure amazement and bliss on his face. Bond had never seen it like this, and he found it absolutely mesmerizing. He really should have said it earlier.

The flashing noise of several phones cameras came to their ears, reminding them of where they were – in no means a private room in which they could have such an important conversation. This would make the headlines of all the tabloids, but they did not care a bit.

Q, with sparkles in his eyes that said more than a million smiles, boldly grabbed his hand.

\- Looks like we have to get away from here.  
\- In case you don’t remember, I have a plane to take. And your agency paid for my seat.

He shrugged like it was nothing.

\- We just have to cancel it.  
\- My suitcase is already registered.  
\- I’ll have someone get it for you. Stop worrying about the details.

A mischievous grin took over Bond’s face. He liked having the role of the conscientious businessman, but he really had no intention to go anywhere without Q now. Ignoring the curious and increasingly noisy mob, they hurried up to the car that was waiting for them outside. They looked more like spies on the run than serious grown men, but they couldn’t care less. They slid in the car and locked the doors behind them, still giggling. Hidden in the privacy of the car, they exchanged a long kiss, happy to be again in each others company. Q finally broke their kiss with a huge smile on his face.

\- So, where do you want to go?  
\- What do you mean?  
\- Well, we’re having our first date. We need to make up for lost time. You’re treating me.


End file.
